


Dragon Age Drabbles

by Psuedo_sweetheart



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:30:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3759766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psuedo_sweetheart/pseuds/Psuedo_sweetheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of my Dragon Age drabbles.  Will probably mostly be about Solas/Lavellan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

It was not supposed to happen this way. The barrier between the two worlds he inhabits has been torn, and he is standing in the place where they collide trying to keep both worlds from crumbling. Just as the last of his strength and hope fades away, he feels it. The old, familiar, magic that has been claimed by a mysterious, unlearned, mortal. 

Solas doesn’t glance away from the foes that have surrounded him as she flies by, her battle cry echoing across the mountaintop. The demons refocus their efforts on her, leaving Solas free to cast. The prisoner’s shield reflects the green glow of the rift before she uses it to slam into a demon, only to whirl in one graceful movement, gutting another with one thrust. Solas freezes the third demon and she arcs her blade high, bringing it down with all her force to shatter the creature into a thousand, glittering, pieces.

“Quickly before more come through,” the first words he’s ever spoken to her that she’s also heard. 

They have no shared memories beyond this moment, but he remembers when he first saw her, grey and ragged on a prison cot. He’d murmured to her in Elvhen under his breath in hopes of rousing her after he realized there was no way to reclaim his magic. His fate, his burdens, have shifted onto her mortal shoulders, and he can neither save her nor end her. She is the key and she has no idea just what she will unlock. 

But at this moment she is locking not unlocking, as he grabs her wrist and raises it to the rift. The magic arcs from her palm like a thread, hissing and sputtering as it stitches the Veil back together. With one last burst of magic it seals and the sudden, utter lack of raw, overwhelming magic has them all reeling in disorientation. 

Cassandra is the first to regain her feet, moving to the prisoner and offering her a hand up. Solas stands as well, keeping the woman in his line of sight. She takes off her helm, bedraggled, brown hair falling down her back in a snarled mass of knots. She looks around as though in a daze, and Solas has to bite his tongue from asking her all the questions that have been running through his mind since he learned of her existence.

Instead he tells her of the rifts and her role in this new world order; the key to our salvation. Her expression barely changes at this information, just a flicker of surprise before her attention is caught by the dwarf. 

Solas does not interrupt, even when the dwarf starts bickering with the Seeker. As Cassandra turns away with a snarl, Solas turns toward the prisoner, “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live.”

He stands beneath her gaze with his mask firmly in place. The stage has been set but his role has changed. The entire performance has changed and he no longer knows what the next scene will bring, much less how it will end. But at least the introduction is over; it is time for the next act.


	2. Love

She's not sure she knows how to love anymore. Yet one glance at Solas made her yearn for that certainty and passion she'd had when she was young and naive. It's a thing beyond her grasp now, an emotion so foreign as to seem other worldly. She wants it in a weak sort of way, as all people who want things that terrify them do. 

Even so, each touch makes the breath catch in her throat. She feels her eyes widen and cheeks flush as though she were an untouched maiden. It feels rehearsed, like the muscle memory she uses on the battlefield. Still, she doesn't revolt against it, the comfortable nuances of all the love she remembers but hopes never to repeat. 

Love hiding razor blades, love cutting and breaking, love bleeding out from her chest to cover those that would deny her pain. Leaving her hollow, gasping, copper on her tongue; a taste that never waned. 

Her heart speeds with every kiss, every endearment, hope, fear, joy, all rushing through her mind; a whirlwind that made her dizzy with desire for more. More love to drown out memories of being unwanted and cast aside. Echoing words of affection that she had chased, only to find herself lost and alone. 

She still believes. Somehow. Even after his secrets were spilled, after he stole back his power, as he took her ability to fight. She chokes back self loathing at finding that seed of love that refuses to wither. 

All she can think is, 'he loves me still, he loves me still.' And it is enough for her wounded heart to carry on.


	3. It Is Not Love

It is not love. Or so he tells himself as he once again has to drag his thoughts away from the woman now hailed as the Herald of Andraste. He’d given up trying to convince himself that he was fascinated solely by the mystery she embodied. His thoughts did not dwell on the magic she’d stolen or theorize on what she’d be able to accomplish given enough time and guidance. 

No, instead his thoughts strayed into frivolous daydreams of impressing her with ancient, forgotten, ruins and answering her inevitable deluge of questions. His dreams taunted him with reflections of her in places she’d never been, in a time before her time. His gaze followed her as if drawn like a magnet, no matter if she was training, deadly and powerful in the sparring ring, or if she were simply eating breakfast, hands still clumsy with sleep.

It is not love, he thought as she raised her hand to the Breach, his heart drumming hard and fast in his chest. His mouth went dry as the magic swelled and sputtered, seeming to struggle and writhe, her small body the conduit for both the power and hope of hundreds. 

He raised his arm in triumph and smiled not only because the Breach had been closed, but because she rose to her feet, alive and unharmed at the end of it. When she turned and caught his eye with a happy grin, his heart returned to its mad drumming and he had to remind himself yet again- it is most definitely not love. 

 

It is not- he couldn’t finish that thought as he caught sight of her silhouette against a backdrop of dragon fire. The darkspawn magister dangled her by the arm like a rag doll, the baritone of his voice rumbling across the expanse that separated them. He could do nothing. He was helplessly furious, at himself, at the world, at Corypheus. Where once his rage could have leveled mountains, now he simply clenched his fists and swallowed against the lump in his throat before forcing himself back to the wounded refugees.

It wasn’t love. It wasn’t anything. 

 

It is not- was not love, he thought as his magic surged to his fingertips when panicked hands shook him from the solace of the Fade. The thought refused to relent even when he entered a tent to see her dear face that he thought to never see again. She rested silent and still as blue tinged marble. He threw himself into saving her, the Tevinter mage at his side, warming blanket after blanket and tossing tinctures down her throat. 

It isn’t till she starts to shiver that he dares to take a long look at her and feel hope.

Hope, yes, but most certainly not love.

 

It is not love, he thought as she stole a chaste kiss and his heart nearly clamored up his throat in frenzy of desire. It is not love, he thought as he enveloped her body in his arms and leaned her back to show her how gods kiss. It is not love, he thought as he stood her back on her feet and yet could not help but take one last taste of her, hard and thorough like an ardent stamp of approval. 

It is not love, he thought again when he woke with a frustrated groan, his whole body screaming for more of her. He had to remind himself yet again when she came to see him the following morning with a pretty blush and a smile.

“I’m willing to take that risk if you are.”

He was silent. It is not love, but he must find a label for this before he allows it to grow. 

“There are… considerations.”

He does consider. He considers her smile and her insatiable curiosity. He considers her kindness, her ferocity, and her high regard of one ragged, apostate. He even for one brief moment considers a future where they could remain together…

It is love. Anything less would never tempt him so. Anything less could not distract him from goals held close for thousands of years. 

It is love, perhaps the most dangerous of all emotions. It is love that has always doomed him.

He couldn’t let the thought go as he climbed the stairs to her room, the warmth of her close behind him. The words reverberating through his mind as she spoke, answering his questions and yet creating even more mysteries. 

It is- but he must resist. For both of their sakes, he must resist this time because though he could accept his doom, he could not endure hers.

Her touch on his arm is all it took to crumble his resolve.

It is love, this is love, she is love. Love and everything good about love, home, warmth, safety, and affection. His arms around her and hers around him, the world a blurry backdrop in the brilliance of their passion.

“Ar lath, ma vhenan.”

This truth he can give her. This truth is the one he hopes she will still believe after all his lies come to light. It is love, and he hopes that she will not hate him for it.


	4. Simply Solas

He was known as Fen’Harel, The Dread Wolf, He Who Hunts Alone, Lord of Tricksters, The Great Wolf, Roamer of the Beyond and Bringer of Nightmares. The people have trembled at his mention for ages. Now he has been stripped of all his names, his home, his people and his power. Now he is simply Solas, homeless apostate, scholar and dreamer in a land of nightmares he had created. 

Thalia Lavellan has her own collection of titles, some official and some not. One that she does not yet know is vhenan. Because in this abominable world, she has become his home, his safe place, his heart. He is the Bringer of Nightmares and she is the vanquisher of them. He is dread and she is hope, he is alone and she is a friend, he gives her tricks and she gives him clarity. He is the wolf and she is the knight. 

She’s pursued him, but not in the way he’s accustomed to. Men and women have thrown themselves at him with little regard of who he was as a person, infatuated with the idea of his power and charisma. Thalia knows him only as a ragged apostate with a penchant for dreams and spirits. But she sees the value in those things, as well as in himself. She is invested in him, not his power. 

It is truly maddening that someone so deserving of all he could have offered in the past would find him when he can give her nothing but memories and his own battered heart. Solas would like to think that if he had met Thalia in Arlathan’s time, that he would have plucked the moon from the heavens to hang against the dark sky of her skin. But in reality he knows that the elf he was in Arlathan would not have been able to recognize even half of Thalia’s worth. 

A Dalish hunter who transcended her limited upbringing to become a curious, open minded, and thoughtful individual. It is something she did, not something that happened to her. And that is what ultimately convinced him that she was strong enough for his love.


	5. Diamond Back

Ardith barely managed to end the conversation with Blackwall on a casual note instead of cutting him off to race back to the castle. Walking directly from the stables to Solas’ study, they were completely unaware of the glances and greetings that followed them, lost in thought until they stopped at his door. Hand on the doorknob, Ardith managed to pull themself out of their fantasies. 

Taking a deep breath to steady themself, they exhaled slowly. It would hardly do to barge in already breathless with want; they wanted to draw this out, a tease, a game within a game. Ardith grinned and bit their bottom lip, a giggle nearly escaping their lips already. 

Another deep breath and they were finally composed enough to enter the room, mostly nonchalant, with only their eyes giving them away.

Solas glanced up from his book at the sound of the door opening, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he saw Ardith.

“Inquisitor. How may I be of service?”

They didn’t answer till they were behind his chair, trailing their fingers playfully over the edge of his ear.

“Oh, you know me. I have whole lists of things you would be useful for,” they replied with a wide smile, trying their best to sound casual. They leaned over the back of the chair, placing a innocent kiss on his cheekbone.

“I might be interested in seeing these lists,” he murmured as he lifted his face to hers, gently taking hold of their chin to guide their lips to his. A kiss with Solas was never chaste, always tinged with passion that threatened to undo them and Ardith struggled to keep in mind what they had come for.

Solas tried to draw them around the chair to deepen the kiss but Ardith pulled away with a mischievous smile. A laugh threatened to burst from them as they watched his brow furrow in what they could only describe as puzzled, amusement. Ardith did not usually play hard to get, but they were starting to see the allure. 

They walked slowly to the front of his desk out of reach of his, far too distracting, hands and lips. Picking up the Shard Solas kept on his desk they turned it over in their hands, pretending to study it for a moment.

“I’ve heard you’re talented at Diamondback.”

Ardith glanced at him through their lashes, heart jumping to their throat as a pleased and knowing smile flashed across his face. Now he knew the game and they could start to play in earnest.

Solas leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers together as he surveyed them.

“I do tend to be talented at games, vhenan.” 

Ardith fought back a wave of traitorous laughter, “I can imagine. So, shall you teach me? I would be a very enthusiastic pupil.” 

They licked their lips for emphasis and Solas’ gaze followed the tip of their tongue with an intensity usually reserved for new discoveries in the Fade. It made Ardith’s heart rate speed up dramatically and they almost gave up the game right then and there, throwing themself into his lap in abandon. They bit their bottom lip instead, fighting a smile as he shifted in his seat.

“Enthusiasm is crucial. What shall I receive in return for fulfilling this desire?” he finally responded.

Ardith returned the Shard back to its place and walked back around the desk slowly till they were within his reach, their eyes never leaving his. They leaned down to whisper in his ear.

“How about a much more enticing memory of winning than Blackwall could possibly give you?”

He laughed, the rich sound echoing through the room and setting Ardith’s heart aflame with both fierce love and victory. Pulling Ardith onto his lap he kissed them right below the ear, before answering, voice low and full of promise. 

“In that case I believe I can arrange a few private lessons.”

***

 

“I had to borrow Blackwall’s deck of cards. The look on his face when I mentioned you had asked me to teach you Diamondback was rather priceless.”

A peal of laughter rang through the room, blanketing his heart with warmth as his eyes greedily took in the curve of her lips and flush of her cheeks.


	6. Waves

She makes him doubt. Himself, his plans, his beliefs. It should breed resentment, this weakness she draws out in him. But it simply adds to her allure. The mortal who can effortlessly touch the Dread Wolf’s heart, whose fingers unconsciously run along his fault lines. 

The Betrayer who was betrayed, and yet still he hands his heart over, recklessly, swiftly, like a da’len in the throes of first love. To care is strength, compassion is strength, but love has only ever proved to be his weakness. He loves her anyway and ever since that day on her balcony, the anchor is not the only power she grasps in her hand.

He is never helpless or powerless, and neither is she. The Inquisitor. But she lays The Inquisitor at his feet and he lays the Dread Wolf at hers and they pretend to just be people instead of ideas and ideals; the dreams of the powerless and the machinations of the powerful. Instead they are simply elves who love under the stars, elves who own their own dreams, elves who bend and sway against and inside each other, but never break.

She is real and he knows that even though Cole squints his eyes and cocks his head whenever he tries to feel her, mourning how she is too bright for him to see. He’d known ever since she kissed him in the Fade. He’d thought of it before, dreamed of it even, the taste of her mouth, the feel of her lips. But he’d been afraid that it was a spark that would fizzle into nothing. The glitter of false gold. 

Instead the spark met kindling and transformed into a wildfire that had him bowing her beneath his body, tongue stoking the flames that leapt between them, a fierce desire so unfamiliar it nearly consumed him right then and there. 

She changed everything because he had thought the gods were needed, but she never needed him. Never called him hahren, and was no one’s da’len. She met the heartaches and monstrosities of the world and whispered no prayers, fierce and implacable as the sea. 

He had thought to lose himself in her waves in that glen painted with ancient secrets. He couldn’t decide if it was strength or weakness that held the words in his throat. Perhaps it was both. The strength to break their bond with his own hands instead of waiting for the axe to fall. The weakness of wanting her to hate him for things he had done instead of things he had not. 

But she had not hated him. There was a minute flash of pain in her eyes before she smiled sadly.

“You did warn me.” 

It was the worst thing she could have said. That those words, ‘it would be kinder in the long run,’ had echoed in her head all this time and yet she’d not wavered. She held out her hands for whatever he was willing to give, treasuring every moment while waiting for the day he would burn her. 

His breath caught, stuttering around the pain lodged in his throat.

“Come back if you can, Solas.”

She moved as if to touch him but thought better of it and smiled again, sad yes, but also so very kind and strong. Everything she was, was in that smile. Everything he wanted was in that smile. But he let her go just as she let him go. 

But the love didn’t go. It hung between them like clothes left out in the sun too long, bleached, stiff and obvious. She made no move to stop him, hold him, or punish him. Not with a single word, not with a heavy glance, or the lightest touch, not even with icy avoidance. She was the sea. And he was just another traveler on her waves, along with everyone else. 

It was Cole who shattered that illusion.

“Ar lasa mala revas. You are so beautiful. But then you turned away. Why?”

Her entire body clenches like a fist at the mention of that moment. A spasmodic movement of agony. How many times has she shown him her heart, only for him to forget how soft and yielding it is the moment she hides it away again? She was too bright for him to see as well. He had subscribed her to the status of goddess without her permission, he had ignored her heart in favor of her mystery and power. 

He can see it now. He hadn’t wanted to break her heart so he’d pretended it was as strong and unyielding as iron. He had imagined her sharpening its edges and using it to lay waste to all that threatened to harm her. But she wasn’t the sea, and she’d never hammer her heart into submission. She would let it bleed and ache inside her chest and hide it behind a soft smile.

She’s a woman with masks. Masks that she made to protect herself from the dreams of others that would shape her into a creature she did not know. She had even had to protect herself from him. From his dreams of spirits, magic, and power that he pictured curled inside her depths.


End file.
